Scheduled

Forty of us in the lot, two-fifteen,

holding cups we didn't ask to bring outside.

Building manager smiling like he'd seen

something beautiful. Clipboard at his side.

Boxes already checked. Every one filled

before we even flinched. The paper flapped

in the wind—our panic pre-installed,

his satisfaction pre-wrapped.

Karen from accounting said

at least we know it works.

Eleven minutes in the cold

standing next to people I have walked

past all year without a word

and here we are, shoulders touching, herds

of us blinking in the day

like something dragged into the light.

No fire. No smoke. No reason to stay.

We went back in. The building took us back.

I sat down at my desk.

The alarm still right. Me still wrong.

Nothing burning but the clock.